Page 29 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)
Logan brings his eyes back to mine, shimmering with a confession that sends my heart flying out of my chest and straight into his possession.
“I want you to be my girl, T. Not just a week-long fuck or a lonely call in the middle of the night. I want to be a man worthy enough to have you by my side. I want to be deserving of you, earn your trust in a way I’ve never gotten it.
I want your heart and a chance to care for it if you’ll let me? ”
The adoration in his eyes is enough to melt the ice built up around my heart. Every word holds enough power to send me off the rails as sudden visions of us in the future flash quickly through my mind—the white picket fence kind.
Lifting one hand, I bring it to the side of his face, tracing my fingers down the outline of his stubbled jaw until I grip his chin with my thumb and index finger, ensuring he looks into my eyes as I whisper my next request.
“No games. Promise me, Lo.”
“No games. No one else but you. Fuck, let me prove it to you.”
When his fingers toy with the hem of my dress, my hands immediately find purchase on his broad shoulders for balance to still the sway of my arousal. My knees shake and my chest trembles as he slowly pulls the dress up, all while keeping those warm, espresso eyes on me.
“No one else but you.”
The cool air of the room hits my bare thighs, quickly followed by the warm of his breath against my skin.
He pulls the silk fabric higher until he’s met with my barely-there black lace thong.
His gaze leaves me for a moment to appreciate my choice of panties, dazed in a trance with that sexy-as-hell crooked grin.
“Logan,” I whisper, afraid I might bruise his shoulders with how tightly I’m gripping onto them. I’m so wound tight, so wet beyond belief that just one breath against my aching core will set me off for a millennium.
“Can I kiss you here, T?” His thumbs caress the sensitive skin on the edge of my panties as he watches me writhe beneath his torturous touch.
My vision is hazy from the desire pumping through my body, trying to gain control over the spinning in my head.
His declarations for me fire off like a New Year’s light show in my head, full of excitement, wonder, and technicolor.
“Y-yes,” I whisper.
Logan’s eyes light with hunger as he licks his full lips before leaning in, placing a soft kiss right over the lace, straight to my pulsing heat.
I shudder with his touch, hands leaving his shoulders to grab hold of the thick blonde locks on the top of his head to hold me steady. My fingers make their way through the smooth strands, gripping tight every time he presses a hot lingering kiss against my lace-clad pussy.
I look down at him with blown-out pupils, holding onto whatever resolve I have left. All I want to do is accept his promises by stripping myself bare,—I’m ready to let him have his way with me on every surface of this hotel room.
“If only you knew the power you hold over me, Tia Young. You want me on my knees for you?”
He pulls my panties down just enough to expose the strip of hair on my mound, giving me a feather-light kiss as I let out a breathy moan.
“‘Cause I promise you …” He draws them lower, fully exposing me.
Kiss.
“I’m not above begging.”
Lick. Kiss.
A noise between a strangled whine and a laugh leaves me. I’m obscenely wet, and my self control is halfway back to California right about now.
“As much as I love seeing you on your knees for me, make good on your promise and seal it with a kiss.”
“That’s not me anymore, baby. I can guarantee that.” His smile is so bright it blinds me with affection, swelling my heart within my chest it feels as if I could explode. Bringing my panties back into their place, he lays one last playful kiss against my center before pulling down my dress.
“Yeah, okay,” I goad him. “We’ll see about tha?—”
He’s off his knees before I can finish my sentence, hoisting me up around his waist. On instinct, I wrap my legs tight around his core, gripping like my life depends on it.
Then it’s fire, fury, and passion, all wrapped in one life-altering kiss. It’s a kiss that holds every promise and possibility. A kiss that fights its way through doubt. A kiss that keeps the devil off our shoulders.
Logan’s tongue explores my mouth, tasting and claiming me, pouring every word he confessed to me straight into my bloodstream. We’re a panting, heaving, insatiable pair as his hands grip and squeeze me, igniting embers across my skin with every plunge of his tongue and nip of his teeth.
I moan, and he swallows it, not letting me come up for air. I grind myself against his straining erection, hard and long. He tastes better than I imagined, a taste that is so wholly Logan, I’m already an addict, ready for my next hit.
Pulling away slightly, he holds onto me with trembling hands. We breathe into each other until we fall in sync, noses touching, lips swollen, and foreheads pressed together. The line’s been crossed, the one we’ve been tip-toeing around and avoiding. Now, there’s nothing in its place. Just us.
I came here for Nora. To bring my sister home. A gift for my mom. And for Dad too. I came with the intention to heal my family, which is still the mission. It’s still the reason I’m here.
But little did I know I’d come here to go all in with my best friend. The guy who others could never compare to. They never held a candle to him—not even close.
One kiss was all it took. Deep down, my soul knew it belonged to Logan, even if my heart needed time to catch up.
I didn’t know it then, but I know it now.
I came to Las Vegas to win big for my family.
But I’ve struck all 7’s across the board with Logan, and the night has only just begun.
Keeping a five-year-old still in their seat is a near impossible feat.
One of the first solid memories I have from my childhood is being front and center at Nora’s dance recital.
It wasn’t the first one I’d been to. Nora had been our tiny dancer since she was three and I was a little babe, chewing my fists as she commanded the stage as a toddler, according to my parents.
But the first recital I can recall was at Christmas time. I was a wiggly five-year old, hopped up on sugar cookies and hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, staring wide-eyed up at my big sister like she was the Sugar Plum Fairy herself.
Mom made us get to the show thirty minutes early to claim the best seats in the house—a few rows back from the front, right in the center.
This well before cell phones and tablets to keep your little one occupied, so to keep me from having a tantrum, Dad played a game of “I Spy” with me around the auditorium.
As the house lights dimmed and the spotlight shined on Nora’s dance teacher to the side of the stage, my beaming smile might have been the brightest light in the room. There she was—my big sister in a sparkly white leotard with a matching white tutu. She looked like a literal angel.
My eyes spread wide as saucers, taking in the magic of it all. I practically had to stand on the edge of my seat to see over the bald guy in front of me. Dad noticed and perched me in his lap so I could watch Nora’s big solo.
I was mesmerized by her. She was only seven.
Now, as the lights dim in this grand Vegas theater, with Logan’s fingers intertwined with mine, I feel the same excitement and anticipation I did when I was five-years-old.
“Are you ready for this?” Logan asks, bringing my hand to his lips and ghosting kisses over my knuckles.
I know he’s asking if I’m ready to watch the show to see my sister dance for the first time since forever, but I hear a double meaning in his question. Am I ready for a relationship with Logan?
His words from earlier left an imprint on my brain—words I’ve been yearning to hear from him since I felt the connection between us spark into something bigger than our friendship. His touch and the way he kissed fire into me lit an inferno, burning brighter than the sun. I can’t hide it.
Yes, I’m ready. All in. No regrets.
“Yes,” I nod, beaming.
“God, you’re fucking stunning tonight. Kiss me,” he demands, cupping the back of my neck as he devours my mouth. I sigh into the kiss with butterflies in my belly, smiling against his mouth because it all feels so damn right.
My shoulders jump when the first beat of the music blares through the theater, breaking apart our heated make-out session.
I’m blinded by flashing lights, stark white and blood red as dancers emerge from both sides of the main stage.
The set is massive, with two smaller platforms on either side of it.
Giant floor to near-ceiling screens make up the background, transporting me deeper into the illusion.
I’m entranced by the choreography, the bright lights, and the way each dancer’s body moves to the beat, undulating and free. As a single spotlight shoots onto the right side of the stage, accentuated by a heavy drum beat moving in time to my pacing heart, she snakes from the shadows into the light.
I lean forward to the edge of my seat—just as I did when I watched her as a child—my hand gripping Logan’s so tight he must be losing circulation, but he doesn’t dare let go or adjust. He lets me hold on to him for dear life as I watch my sister, in all her glory, emerge from the wings, sending a roar of cheers and applause vibrating throughout the entire theater.
I choke back a sob as my free hand flies over my mouth. “Look at her, Lo,” I breathe, tears streaming down my cheeks and past my chin.
“I see her. She’s beautiful, baby.”
Baby. It sounds like rich honey coming out of his mouth.
It’s also a straight shot of arousal between my legs.
I had to stop him from moving things further earlier in our hotel room before we ended up locked out of the theater doors for being too late.
But my body hasn’t forgotten the things he was doing—and how it made me feel.
Wanted, desired, horny as fuck.
Now that he’s holding my hand and kissing me in public, I can only imagine the things he’ll do to me behind closed doors.
“She’s amazing. Exactly how I remembered her,” I whisper, more to myself than to Logan. My eyes follow Nora’s every move, tracking her across the stage. I think about how the stranger at the airport told me she’s seen this show three times because of her.
I get it now. I truly do.
She’s there, right in front of me, moving freely with so much strength in every step and turn she makes.
It’s as if all the resentment I’ve felt toward Nora falls away with each minute I spend watching her dance.
Right now, I feel nothing but total adoration and unconditional love.
Because when I see her dance, she’s not the “Vixen”—star of the Vermillion Sands spectacular show in Las Vegas.
She’s the seven-year-old ballerina dancing to the Sugar Plum Fairy in her white tutu with her family right there, in the best seats in the house.